


Borrowed Time

by CascadePD



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drunk Dean Winchester, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Overusing Ellipses, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29010738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CascadePD/pseuds/CascadePD
Summary: Dean is NOT dealing with his father's death, and everyone seems to know it but him.  To make matters worse, he's hearing voices but he can't remember who or why.
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene occurring after the end of S2, E2 - Everybody Loves a Clown. Short chapters and multiple POV

BORROWED TIME

**CRASH! BANG! SLAM! SLAM!**

Dean gasped for breath dropping the crowbar, his rage spent for the moment. His eyes stared vacantly forward seeing only inner demons his father had left him with. The Colt was gone and his father suddenly dropped dead. Dean was no fool. He knew the Demon was involved somehow. Sammy had mentioned Dad summoning the Demon. And of course, Sammy had also mentioned the Reaper. John had to have made a deal…there was no other explanation for his death and Dean’s sudden recovery.

"You done?" Bobby deadpanned as he stepped out of the garage wiping his grease caked hands on an equally greasy rag. 

Dean shrugged and kicked at the forgotten crow bar lying at his feet. He inwardly cringed at the gaping hole in the trunk lid glaring back at him. 

"Hmph." Bobby shook his head and sighed. He knew sooner or later Dean was going to break. He surveyed the damage the elder Winchester had inflicted on the helpless trunk. "Can't bondo that. I ain't got another one to replace it. You're gonna have to call Walt at Battle Creek Salvage over in Fremont and see if he's got one."

"Yeah." Dean rasped vaguely aware of Bobby’s words.

"Next time you feel the need to do that, do yourself a favor and take it out on the 'K' car out back." he jabbed with his thumb behind him. "You can take the blue truck to pick up the lid…as long as it don't end up like my minivan." He chuckled and went back into the workshop. 

"It won't." Dean promised, and belatedly called out to the other hunter, "Sorry about the van." 

Dean sighed and picked up the crowbar and deposited it back where he had found it. _Baby, I’m so sorry I hurt you_ , he patted the roof of the Impala and walked back to the injured trunk and began to disassemble it. 

**“You’re living on borrowed time already…”** a female voice whispered. Dean’s head snapped up as though the voice had been in front of him. He looked around, finding only a vacant lot full of car parts. _Dude, who the hell was that?_ “Hello?” A chill ran down his spine causing goose pimples on his arms, despite the warmth of the day.

 _Awesome. Now I’m going crazy._ A wave of claustrophobia came over him, like it was too crowded in his own mind. The constant knot in Dean’s stomach tightened, an ever-present reminder that something was not right and hadn’t been for weeks. Deciding it was all in his mind he dropped the socket wrench and peeled the mechanics gloves off of his hands and threw them in the trunk. He glanced at his reflection in the newly installed window. A worn out face and haunted eyes stared back at him. _Gotta get out of here…_ The car forgotten, Dean went into the house, passing Sam, who was completely engrossed in Bobby’s book collection. He fished a nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels out of his duffel bag. He strode back out of the house without a word. 

Sam watched his brother’s departing form through the screen door noting the bottle held in one hand. The bottle had been a common fixture since their father had died. _Oh yeah, you’re not handling it at all._ Sam sighed and went back to the demonology book he had been reading, not saying a word.


	2. Chapter 2

After the bottle had been retrieved, Dean set out walking towards a grove of trees on the south side of the salvage yard. Once through the trees, he approached a barbed wire fence. Testing the flexibility of the rusty wires, Dean found that they were loose enough to pry apart and climb through. Dean continued his journey through a waist high sea of golden prairie. He stopped at the edge of a gully, pondering whether to continue down into the dry streambed. The desire to keep walking left him and he sat heavily at the edge of the small outcrop.

Dean took a swig of the amber liquid swallowing slowly, allowing the burn to drift to his belly like a trail of fire. He’d never been the ‘take a walk and think about life’ kind of guy, that was really more Sammy’s department. So instead he tried to think about nothing. The problem was that nothing kept turning into Dad.

The sun began to set, and the temperature began dropping. He focused on the orange and purple hues of the sunset dancing across the sky. Dean relaxed, finally not thinking about anything but the evening sky before him. Unexpectedly, a mental image of his father popped into Dean’s mind. His face, his eyes, and the way he smelled, his gruff voice when he issued an order. Dean took another drink…and another. Tears began to roll down his face, unbidden. 

_“I want you to know that I’m so proud of you…”_ John’s words echoed in Dean’s head. Rage bubbled to the surface yet again. “FUCK! WHY DAD? What were you thinking? Summoning the Demon…so fucking STUPID!” He screamed into the dusk sky. A massive sob racked his exhausted body. _I’m tired…so tired of this._

Dean picked up the bottle and drained the remaining whiskey ignoring the burning in his throat and belly. Pain, the pain was good. Pain had become his only friend. He closed his eyes and the dirt was replaced by a hospital bed…his father standing just inside the doorway.

 _“What is it?”_ Dean asked, noticing the slight quiver in his father’s lower lip as he dismissed Sammy.

 _“You know, when you were a kid, I’d come home from a hunt and after what I’d seen, I’d be a wreck. And you’d come up to me and put your hand on my shoulder and look me in the eye, and you’d say, ‘It’s ok dad.’”_

Dean had been truly disturbed by his father’s sudden outburst of emotion. Never in his twenty-seven years had his father cried in front of him, yet there he was about to break down. 

_“Dean I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to say that to me, I should have said that to you. I put too much on your shoulders. I made you grow up too fast. You took care of Sammy…you took care of me. You did that. You did that and you didn’t complain…not once. I want you to know that I’m so proud of you.”_ John smiled at his eldest son and stepped closer to the hospital bed.

Leaning forward, John put his lips near Dean’s ear and whispered.

**“You’re living on borrowed time already…”**

Dean gasped and his eyes snapped open, not expecting the sweetly feminine voice in his ear. Looking around for the disembodied voice for the second time that day, Dean still found nothing but open sky in front of him as he lay on his back staring up at the stars. He figured he must have passed out at some point judging by the spin the stars were taking. He checked his watch trying to focus on the swimming numbers; nearly five hours had passed since coming out to the gully. 

He threw the empty bottle into the valley and began staggering back to the house. Dean had nearly walked into the barbed wire fence before he wished that he had brought a flashlight. He pried the loosened middle wires apart and unsteadily crouched through the opening. Dean stumbled and his hand slipped on the wire leaving a two-inch gash on his left palm. “Sonovabitch, I’m gonna get rabies or…or whatever you get from stupid-assed fences.”

He continued to stumble through the salvage yard, coming upon his Impala. He patted the hood, his injury already forgotten, leaving a palm shaped bloodstain. 


	3. Chapter 3

Making his way into the house, Dean bypassed Sam who was still awake and had been waiting up for him. “Dude, where were you?”

Dean blearily glanced around, startled by his younger brother. “Heeyy Sammy.” 

Sam quickly noted Dean’s injury as the blood began to drip on the floor. “Dean what happened?”

“Wuh-happened?” his words running together. He looked down at his feet and then his hands, remembering that he had been hurt. “Oh. It’za cut”, he stated as if that explained everything.

Sam dropped the tome he had been reading and quickly got to his feet reaching out for Dean’s injured palm. “Yeah, I see that. How did you do it?”

“Um…there waz-zis brabed wire…burbed were…there was a russy fence...and I prolly got rabies.” He slurred.

“Rabies? You dumbass, that’s tetanus. Let’s go get this cleaned up.” Sam commanded, relieved that Dean had been given a tetanus shot during his recent hospital stay. 

“K…” Dean agreed lazily, following his brother to the restroom.

Dean clumsily sat on the closed toilet lid and obediently held his bloody hand out over the lavatory sink.

Sam inspected the wound and washed it with cool water. To say he was concerned about Dean was an understatement. His recent behavior was downright frightening. He had stood back and watched as Dean beat the car over and over, not wanting to interrupt his brother’s first real display of feelings since the accident. As disturbing as it was to witness, Sam knew it was genuine, and not the cocky sarcasm he’d been fed for weeks. 

Sam sighed as he looked over his brother’s weary form. “Dean, what are you doing to yourself? You can’t keep this up, it’s going to kill you,” he asked, not really expecting an answer. Sam took a cotton ball and wiped Dean’s palm clean with rubbing alcohol. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches. It’s just a deep scratch.” Sam removed a gauze pad from the package and began taping it to Dean’s hand.

“I should be dead already. She said so.” Dean mumbled, resting his head on the wall behind him.

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked, but no answer came, only a grunt. His brother had passed out. Chocking it up to drunken ramblings, he let the curious statement go.

Sam maneuvered his arms around Dean’s back struggling to get him to some semblance of standing. Once up, he dragged his brother’s semi-unconscious form into the spare bedroom, not bothering to turn on the light. He unceremoniously dumped Dean on the bed. Sam removed Dean’s shoes and socks and his stained gray tee shirt. He slid Dean further on to the bed and turned him on his side and grabbed the trashcan, just in case he was sick later. Sam sat down beside him taking in his brother’s haggard appearance, and the stench of alcohol on his breath, the only light in the room glaring in from the open door to the hallway.

“Dean, I wish you would just talk to me. Drowning in this shit isn’t going to help.” Sam’s quietly spoken words spilled forth like a floodgate had broken, releasing the sorrow that had threatened to choke him for weeks. Tears began to fall down his face.

“I feel like I’m losing you to it…to the Demon…just without the violence. Dean, I can’t do this. Not again. First Jess, then Dad…now…” Sam hesitantly brought his hand up to his brother’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. 

“I can’t lose you too. You’re all I have left. I love you.” Turning his head away, Sam sat and stared out into the darkness through the bedroom window for a few minutes trying to compose himself. "It’s just...you just have to get past Dad’s death.” Sam pulled his hand away from his brother, silently thankful that Dean was unconscious for his sudden outburst for fear of a ‘chick flick moment’ comment. "Dean, you have to snap out of this…if not for yourself…then do it for me."

Sam got up from the bed wiping away his tears. He turned around to take one last look at his brother’s sleeping form and closed the door.


End file.
